


Water

by Hope



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-20
Updated: 2002-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:32:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LOTRImprov/">LOTRImprov list</a>, with the words "sad, mend, work, tune" -- Frodo and Sam in Rivendell. (gen, could be read as slash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water

Sam didn't think he'd ever get used to that constant sound of water, dull roar close up or whispering consonants just beyond comprehension, curling around the shell-curves of the ceilings and doorways, wide open windows.

"Packed already?" a low murmur behind him, hands - cool even through the rough weave of his shirt - sliding up under his braces and coming to rest on his shoulders. A smile quirked the corner of Sam's mouth, a rush of something sweet rising in his throat at the words; sweet with the wet salty edge of tears.

"Well," he said, the words familiar in his mouth but foreign now, after so much time (and distance); "seeing as you're on the mend. . ."

The absence in Frodo's right hand seemed to burn even more into Sam's skin after Frodo had removed his hands entirely, the snug bands of Sam's braces settling back against his shoulders, feeling abnormally tight all of a sudden. Frodo walked forward, warm presence moving from Sam's back and into his field of vision. Coming to the edge of the balcony, Frodo leant forward with a sigh.

Sam swallowed, watching for a moment the steady rush of white beyond Frodo's bent shoulders. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked forward. The water sounded different now; no longer choral and rich in it's steady tune but a jumble of noise; rough and rasping, thick and splintered.

"We did what we came to do," he murmured, soft voice at odds with the tuneless crunch of the water. Frodo turned his head away, gazing into the falls, and pulled away when Sam rested a hand on his shoulder. He walked further, a few steps, heading toward the corner where a wall met the edge of the cliff, bordered with a mossy balustrade.

"Sam," he said at length; though Sam couldn't hear it - he knew the familiar curve of Frodo's lips around the name, formed as Frodo had turned to face him; his expression not sad, exactly, just . . . resigned. Sam walked closer again. "What will you do when we return to the Shire?" Lips curled around that world with as much beloved familiarity.

"Why . . . what I've always done, I suppose," Sam said, carefully thoughtful. "Work for you, in your garden." His hands ached to rest on Frodo's shoulders, thumbs to press against the pulse at his throat. Frodo's lips tightened momentarily, then his head dropped, gazing down at the mottled stone underfoot, tiled with discarded autumn leaves. When he looked up again his eyes were trained again on the falls in the distance.

"Would it be enough?" It was barely a whisper, but Sam was listening for it.

Frodo would be more used to the water here, Sam thought - having grown up on the Brandywine and all. Though the clear chatter of that water was a far sight from this. Sam couldn't swim, but he'd seen Frodo move through the water as if he were born in it. "It always has been for me, sir, I can't see myself doing anything else."

Frodo smiled then, and Sam could see the water reflected in his eyes when Frodo turned back to him. "Come on, Sam," he said, voice smooth and flowing. "Let's go back." He linked his arm in Sam's, the sound of the water fading to an constant whisper calling after them as made their way back under the arched ceilings.

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/7547.html


End file.
